My day started innocently enough. Watching my hand-me-down plasma screen, I happened upon a new feminine hygiene product that had as it's primary selling point, the fact that it now had designs printed on the various bits of plastic and absorbent substances. It was prettier to look at.
Shall we all just pause momentarily to ponder the utter absurdity of the marketing department who all make 10 times my salary in the veterinary industry, who dreamed up this little piece of heaven: "OK kids.....I'm thinking pink and violet swirls......pretty flowers....I want women all over the world to stop and admire our product as they are wrapping it in little toilet paper packages for the trash"
Have we sunk this low?
Are these guys really employed with benefits?
I get rejection notices and this is the idea that takes off?
In all fairness to the world of marketing and demographics...of which I occupy the least attractive and viable portion thank you very much.....the commercials of my youth, although catchy, were hardly any better. I remember Mr Whipple squeezing the Charmin with a look of orgasmic rapture coupled with a creepy guilty pleasure vibe that should have alerted the local authorities. I remember "thatsa some a spicy meata ball" that was an insult to Italian Americans everywhere. I remember nameless, faceless "housewives" who beamed glowing smiles because their toilet bowls sparkled. That's back in the day when toilets were actually full of water.
So here's the thing: in a world that couldn't possibly care any less about what I think because I live as an outsider even in my own puny and inconsequential menopausal demographic, I will continue to stand with my nose pressed firmly against the glass and fucking tell you any way.
What the hell have I got to lose?
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
